


Easiest of All

by LearnedFoot



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Drabble Sequence, First Kiss, Fix-It, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Five times Diarmuid changed the Mute’s life.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42
Collections: The tuesday Celebration Flash





	Easiest of All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



> A treat for you! Five drabbles, on the theme.

The first time they meet, Diarmuid appears like an angel in the haze of half-awake, half-aware, half-dead.

For a moment, the Mute thinks he is in heaven, but such a thing is not possible. If he was dead, he would sink to hell, so this must be Earth. 

He does not deserve a second chance, but he cannot stop himself from reaching towards the bright beauty of those distressed eyes. His hands fumble and his voice is useless, too raw for words even if he allowed himself.

_Help_ , he tries to convey with a gesture, before darkness overtakes him again.

\---

“Rock?” Diarmuid asks as they wander, searching for a certain flower Ciarán requires. The icy nip of autumn is upon them, and with it, illness to prepare for.

The Mute points at a large rock on the side of the hill. Diarmuid claps, delighted.

“Grass?”

That one’s easy, it’s all around.

“You’re learning so quickly,” Diarmuid praises.

The Mute feels ridiculous, preening at a compliment from someone barely more than a boy, for learning a new language at the level of a toddler. And yet, he keeps pointing: sky, tree, bird.

“Friend?” Diarmuid tries.

That’s the easiest word of all.

\---

Diarmuid says it is God who saved him. The Mute knows better.

It was not God who kept him clinging to life, but Diarmuid’s voice, the desperate press of sweet lips against his cheek. The light fingers changing his bandages, day after day. Diarmuid’s body, soft and warm when he curled against the Mute at night, refusing to leave his side for a moment.

“I thank God every day for letting me keep you,” Diarmuid tells him one evening as they lay together, nose-to-nose.

The Mute kisses his forehead, indulgent.

Let Diarmuid think what he wants; he knows the truth.

\---

The first time Diarmuid kisses him is light, hesitant. The Mute returns it just as gently.

Encouraged, Diarmuid lunges forward, sending them tumbling into the leaves and dirt in his enthusiasm.

“Oh, I’m sor—”

His apology is lost in another kiss, one with tongue and nipping teeth.

The next time Diarmuid says, “Oh,” it’s with his cock rocking against the Mute’s thigh, head buried in his neck. He repeats it when the Mute bucks against him.

He doesn’t say anything as he comes undone: only gasps and shudders.

The Mute adores Diarmuid’s words, but leaving him speechless is even better.

\---

“I’ve been thinking,” Diarmuid begins one day, as they labor over a fishing net. Hard work, but it has kept them fed over the past months. “I don’t want to be a fisherman forever.”

The Mute’s heart catches. He’s been waiting for the day Diarmuid abandons what they’ve built together in favor of returning to the monastery. 

He grunts, noncommittal.

“I think I would prefer farming. Do you agree?” Diarmuid blinks, eyes wide despite the sea spray. “We could have a farm, just us?”

Amazed, disbelieving, the Mute allows himself to smile—and with the smile, hope.

Diarmuid smiles back.


End file.
